


The least he could do

by Entomancy



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bickering, During Roman vs. Bray Wyatt summer 2015, Gen, Sad Shield feelings, Seth's dubious life choices, So much bickering, the shield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomancy/pseuds/Entomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding himself unexpectedly concerned about current events, Seth tries to find a way to actually talk with Dean. This comes with its own difficulties, before he can even get to the subject at hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The least he could do

You could find almost anything backstage, if you looked hard enough.  Say what you might like about the Authority, but they never threw anything away that there was a chance of getting some more use out of, even if you had to _squeeze_.  

It took longer than Seth would have liked to push that particular thought aside, as he made his way through the dimly-lit stacks of old props and stage-dressings, searching for the dusty structure he had found last week.  Back when the idea had first started to seed, as much as he had tried to ignore it.

Until he couldn’t anymore.  Until he was half-deafened by the _insistence_ of a concern that had no place in his mind; not now.  He was the Future, and that – _that_ , was so far in the past it should have been nothing more than dust, at most the last, failing fragments of something broken beyond chance of repair.

And yet…

He could hear footsteps behind him, just occasionally.  The faint shift and scrape of silence and stealth from someone unskilled at either, and he made sure to make enough noise himself to keep the attention.  Losing Noble and Mercury had been easy – honestly, a correctly-aimed bright light would probably have done the job - and he’d gotten good in the last few strained months at ducking out of the Authority’s sight more generally, if not for long.

It felt good to actually _plan_ something for once, if he was really being honest with himself.

_And how often do you manage that these days?_

He put that thought aside too, as he rounded a corner and found what he was looking for.  Wrist-thick bars were arranged at regular intervals around a slice of metal grating, with roughly cross-welded door section that swung out into the open space between stacked pallets.  He didn’t recognise the cage specifically – but it was hardly an unusual motif, and barely strange at all compared to _some_ of the old equipment mouldering in here.  He was fairly sure he’d seen a stack of fairground horses a few turns back, and what in the world those had been for, he couldn’t picture.

The footsteps behind him paused as he did, and he wasn’t sure if he could actually hear the creak of fabric as his pursuer adjusted position, or if he was imagining it, but he found himself counting under his breath.  Three – two – and –

“Surprise, asshole!”

He jumped – but the movement was a lot more deliberate than his sudden-oncoming assailant might have expected.  The dim-lit space above was full of larger pieces of angled set, and his leap brought him in range of a tilted scaffold that he had checked earlier would hold his weight.  It still creaked alarmingly with the momentum as he swung up and back, feeling the wash of movement skim beneath him as he brought his knees up and kicked out – planting both feet hard into Ambrose’s shoulderblades as he lunged past.  The man stumbled, wrong-footed and shoved hard, and the extra force was all that was needed to send him crashing into the back wall of the old cage.

Seth dropped back down, landing in a dash that brought him up to the heavy gate, and he swung it closed with a faint grunt of exertion.  He snapped the padlock into place as Dean rounded on him with a wordless yell of irritation, hammering against the bars, as the whole structure rocked a little, but stayed solid.

Old habits died hard, and Seth couldn’t resist a mocking snigger as he stood back, running his hands back up through his hair, and met Ambrose’s glare.

“Surprise, asshole,” he mimicked, and felt his lip curl into a sneer as Ambrose’s hands dropped back down, to tighten into twitching fists at his sides. “You really think I’m dumb enough to let you get the jump on me again?”

Ambrose cricked his neck from side to side, glancing dismissively around the cage.

“Nice trick.  Mummy and daddy teach you that one, or they finally letting you out on your own now?”

Seth tried not to bristle at the barb.  He had no idea.   _No idea_.  But tempting though it might have been to get in a few verbal hits of his own, he was aware he didn’t have long to do this.  It was difficult to keep anything hidden for long in these corridors, and he’d be willing to bet that _someone_ had at least seen Dean entering the old warehouse.  He had a point to make.  He just had to get it over with, and everything could go back to normal again.

“I - look, I wanted to talk to you.” It was difficult to keep his voice level, with proximity already sending little spikes of tension through him.  Apparently _being locked in a cage_ didn’t actually dilute Dean’s ability to instantly get under his skin – and the look of disdain that crawled across the man’s sullen face at his words did _not_ help.

“Yeah?  Open the door, and your teeth and my fist can have a good old chat.”

“Oh come _on!_ ” Seth couldn’t keep the snap down as he swung forward, slamming his palms down against the bars – in what he realised, with an extra edge of discomfort, was a close mirror to Dean’s own earlier movement.  The other man didn’t start at the action, just rolling his shoulders irritably as Seth came closer.

“What?  Am I not playing your game right, _Champ_?” Dean’s voice dropped suddenly at the end of the retort, spitting the title like an insult, and Seth had to bite back on a snarl.  Even now, even _now_ the scruffy bastard couldn’t just keep his damn mouth shut.  He struck out for composure, gritting his teeth as he forced a cool he didn’t feel into his voice, and tried not to notice the twists of tension winding out down his arms.

“I’m done playing games with you.  You _lost_.  I’m not your. Problem. Anymore.”

“Ain’t the way I see it.” Dean shrugged sullenly, and then that unpleasant half-grin began to slide onto his blunted features. “I kinda like making your life hell, y’know?”

“You’re back of the line, Ambrose,” Seth shot back, forgetting his deliberate calm as he leaned forward to glower through the bars again. “ _Again_.  I’ve got the Beast on my back and half a dozen others snapping at my heels and I don’t need you –”

He realised his mistake, half a heartbeat too late.  Dean’s arm shot out, sudden as a shock in that abrupt way of his, then his hand locked around the back of Seth’s neck, and _yanked_.  Ambrose wasn’t the biggest guy in the locker room, not by any stretch, and his arm was at an awkward angle against the bars, but nothing dulled the wire-strength of him, and Seth barely had time to brace before his face slammed hard against the metal.  Pain bloomed along with a curse as he wrenched himself free, little sparks of light flaring and fading around the edges of his vision, and he clutched at the agony in his nose.

“ – ah, god _dammit_ – !”

Dean was laughing, exaggerated chuckles that didn’t quite reach his actual expression, and bared his teeth as Seth managed to look back up at him through watering eyes.

“Got some blood in your dye job there,” he gestured as he spoke, sneering around his own mirth. “It’s a good look for you, I think – ”

“ _Roman Reigns_ _isn’t you_.”  Seth wasn’t entirely sure how he had intended to phrase that, but pain had taken what tact he could manage – and it was almost worth the dampness starting to pool under his nose to see the moment of wrong-footed confusion staple itself onto Dean’s face.  It was gone fast, pushed aside by a suspicious glare, but it had been there sure enough.

“…what?” his voice was low again, that dangerous tone with the edge of a hissing fuse, but at least he was listening now.  Seth wiped one gloved hand across his face, smearing a dark sheen of scarlet across the fabric, and let his own voice drop.

“It’s not hard to get into your head, Ambrose.  I did it often enough; and it’s not like you’re all home, half the time –”

 _And another of those flickers, those damned memories that refused to die no matter how loudly he might shout over them.  Dean, lunging forward despite the restraining expanse of Roman’s hand on his chest, as Seth caught his brother mid-snarl and dug in his heels, pulling him back from an utterly-outnumbered brawl.  At least until he’d had time to_ think _about it, to set up a plan; as he muttered in Dean’s ear and felt him tense further – then relax, just a little, as the fog thinned and he settled back into some semblance of control._

“Wyatt figured that out,” Seth continued, quickly, as much to push aside the sickening twist that burned around those memories and _would not go away_ , as to actually elaborate. “Got you alone, and got you all riled up – ”

“I ain’t afraid of Bray Wyatt,” the reply was blunt, and Seth didn’t doubt it.  He’d watched those earlier fights – relieved at the time, if he was being honest, that someone else was taking on the spotlight of Dean’s rage for a while.  Seen initial anger turn to a defiant bravado; then seen even that change again, rolling through into maniac determination, a strange one-upmanship that Seth scoffed at publically, labelling it ‘trying to out-crazy each other’, with the thread of truth in his sarcasm ringing oddly in his own thoughts.

It was easy enough to get _into_ Ambrose’s head, but actually getting a _hold_ of anything in there?  You might as well try to punch smoke.  Even Wyatt had given up in the end.  Turned his attention to more solid things.

“I know, I know.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he pinched the aching bridge of his nose, and tried to pull his thoughts together with the motion. “But he’s just – not – interested – in _you_ anymore, is he?”

“Roman’s handling it.”

Was that doubt in his voice?  The faintest edge, somewhere under those rise-fall tones?

“No, he’s not,” Seth replied, flatly, and this time as he met Dean’s gaze he felt his own shoulders drop, his throat tightening around words he never, _ever_ expected he would be saying.  “He’s barely keeping it together.  God _damn_ , Dean, when did he last sleep, even?  He looks worse than _you_.”

That last bit wasn’t exactly true, of course – and even Seth’s imagination baulked at how bad things would have to really be to get _that_ far – but Dean stopped at it anyway, his brow furrowing as his lips worried together, as if working at a loose tooth as he waited for the next thought to arrive.

“He’s alright,” he said, finally, but there was a hesitation in his voice that sent a cold shiver dancing across Seth’s neck.  He didn’t drop his gaze.

“Just… listen to me, okay?  This.  Is.   _Eating_.  Him.” Each word felt like something sharp, clawing out of his throat, and Seth all but spat the last ones, a weird sort of nausea starting to twist in his gut as he gave them voice.

 _‘It’s good to watch him work, don’t you think?”_ Steph’s voice rang across his mind, sculpted words on vicious lips, and he remembered the gleam in her eyes as she followed Wyatt’s movements on the screen.  As the unnerving man had gently run his finger across Roman’s pain choked-face, leaning down to croon into his ear, and there had been _that_ moment.  The briefest flicker of _something_ in Roman’s contorted expression, that had sent the ice of new horror flooding down Seth’s spine, and he wanted –

He _wanted_ –

“…screw you, Seth.” It wasn’t even a snarl, this time, but Seth nearly jolted at the delivery, as he blinked himself back to reality.  Dean was leaning on the bars again, forehead pressed into the space between two of them.  His shoulders were rounded in, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and he was still looking at Seth – but his expression was different.  Raw, almost.  His lips twitched, a little erratically, and he swallowed before he spoke again.

“Don’t pretend like you give any kind of a shit about what happens to us.  At least Wyatt’ll _tell_ you he’s gonna fuck you over.  I’ll take my chances.  Roman too.”

“You don’t –” Seth started, but he was cut off by a bark of harsh laughter as Dean’s expression twisted, almost violently, into something more grimace than smile.

“Ain’t like he’s got anyone else in his corner, right now.  You made real sure of that.”

Seth went to retort again – because the word _please_ was an acid ghost on his lips, and he wanted to reach through those bars and _shake_ , rattle some sense back into that crazy-paving of a psyche and make him _listen_ – but it died in his throat under the weight of Dean’s stare.

The silence thickened, pouring down between them in a chasm of his own making.

“…fine,” he finally rallied into a sneer, because what else had he got left? “Y’know what?  Fine. You’re right.  This was a stupid damn idea.”

Heat was already starting to burn under his cheeks as he snatched the padlock keys from behind him and hurled them, with more force than needed, back into the recess of the cage, where they _clinked_ and bounced back out of sight.  Dean hadn’t moved, and Seth found he couldn’t quite meet his gaze as he span on his heel and stalked away, back through the half-lit maze of storage.

He’d _tried_.  Whatever happened next, he’d tried.

And that didn’t help, in the slightest.

-

 


End file.
